Thunder broils in the distant background and persistent humidity is wrapping his truck in a dense blanket of fog, from the eager breath between us. The day is nearly past as the sun winks goodbye and dips beneath the horizon.
My brown and white shoes press up against the glass as we take this kiss, much farther than our last. Forbidden passion breaks the surface of too many years apart in being, and our touch instantly erases, the line of an honorable distance. We can't keep our hands off of each other and don't even try.
Then the night appears and as in a moment, the two-toned golf shoes are the only thing, I have left on.
